


T-T-T-Tequila...

by Punk_in_Docs



Series: Along Came Benedict: The Ben and Libby Saga... [5]
Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1692764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk_in_Docs/pseuds/Punk_in_Docs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Care to make this really interesting?” he winked. In a very playful teasing voice. Drunken lust overtaking his senses. </p><p>“How so?” she purred back, equally as sinfully and as sexily as he had. </p><p>“Three shot death row, loser has to let the victor take a shot, and then lick the salt off a chosen point on their body…” Ben purred, readying more shot glasses on the table in front of them.</p><p>Libby looked over to him, sexy blue eyes glinting in confidence and acceptance of his dare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Donna Summer, Bee Shorts, and 'Gays'

 

 

 

Libby both loathed and loved Saturdays. Partially because it allowed her to sleep in late, not shower, pull on some comfy old clothes, and idly tidy and clean the house at her own pace. And, of course, the traditional perk, that was movie night with Ben and Tom. (Who would both often fall asleep on her sofa and still be at her place on Sunday morning) many times she had come down at ten o’clock to find them cuddled together snoring. _Oh_ they had better be nice to her, because she had more than a couple of incriminating photo’s that she could spread on twitter and kick-start the ‘gay’ rumours…But, the part she often loathed was the fact that she had to laundry on Saturdays. – she hated laundry - Which meant that none of her good clothes were clean for her to wear, which was a curse unto itself when she had to scarper around the house cleaning it in a bright purple Dexy’s Midnight Runners t-shirt that was old and baggy and hung off one shoulder, and clothing her bottom half, (Just barely, they had shrunk a bit in the wash decades ago) ratty old faded blue pyjama shorts with little cartoon bees on them. She had busied herself today with the enormous task of changing her bedding. Which she did, throwing herself around and scattering pillows all over the place, as she wiggled her bottom embarrassingly to Donna Summers ‘bad girls’ of which she had cranked up so high, she couldn’t hear her own bad singing rise above the thumping music.

 

When it came time to strip her duvet, she jumped up on her bed and tugged it off, launching a couple of pillows over her shoulder to land near the door, throwing the empty pillow cases to the floor, as she worked, dancing and hollering in an awful singing voice, shaking her bum to the left and to the right. Launching into the chorus;

 

_“Friday night, and the strip is hot, Sun's gone down and they're out to trot, Spirit's high and legs look hot, Do you wanna get down?....”_

She had just stretched her frame over the bed, bending forwards to tuck in the under sheet, humming to herself when she felt a sharp resounding smack on her left butt cheek. She yelped and swirled round, standing up to see a tall dark and handsome man stood behind her, grinning and very nearly laughing. She flushed more than a bit red.

 

“How long have you been stood there, Jasper?” she asked with a smile. Wiping the sheen of sweat off her forehead. The man in question simply smiled, and slunk an arm around her waist, reeling her closer.

 

“Long enough for at least one chorus of Donna Summer, and two or three very sexy ass shaking dance moves...”

 

He purred. Nuzzling his nose into hers, hot breath washing over her lips as he tugged a red curl out of the way of her eyes. From the close proximity, Libby could see he was definitely a little bit turned on as his eyes were dilated like scorching chips of ice, and his smile was more than just its usual air of sexiness. Libby’s arms went around his shoulder blades. Stroking the fine purple wool of his jumper – he wore a lot of jumpers…

 

All of her thought was lost however, as he leaned forwards and sealed that hot smile over hers in a breath robbing kiss, his hand going to cup the side of her neck. Snogging her with passionate ferocity. His other hand resting on the scantily clad side of her supple right thigh, toying with the hem of her tight blue shorts. He pulled away and inspected her clothes. Eyeing the shorts and the top with quiet humility.

 

“Is it a bit odd I find the bee shorts rather sexy?…” he asked, biting his lip as he looked at them some more.

 

“A bit eccentric, yes.” She chided, chuckling as he then prodded her in the stomach. Chastising her.

 

“And I love the top too….” He chuckled, stretching it out at the front to get a better look, his fingers brushing the sides of her breasts through the thin cloth. Loving how it bared one of her pale creamy skinned shoulders.

 

He groaned when he saw the time on her clock. “I hate to say this, but I have to leave now, or I may not catch my flight.” He groaned, hands squeezing her closer, and pressing a gentle kiss to her bared shoulder.

 

“Well. Enjoy San Francisco, bring me back,…. I don’t know, what do they have in San Francisco?.... An Alcatraz Jumpsuit, or something….”

 

She joked, pulling away and carting one hand through his inky long hair, he always brushed it back over her forehead, but a couple of stray curls would loop down over his forehead, like a Disney prince.

 

“I wish I could take you with me…” He groaned in exasperation. “But book fairs aren’t as much fun as they seem, and I’ll be writing and reviewing the whole time…” he explained. Tugging a hand over the back of her head, pressing a kiss to her lips.

 

“But when I get back….” He started, kissing her again, before he paused and spoke once more “We will have a night all to ourselves, and I would want you to wear the bee shorts when we do…” he winked filthily, and Libby was suddenly grateful for her thighs being braced and supported against the bed.

 

She smiled, kissing him one last time before his hands reluctantly slid away from her. And he walked across the landing out of her bedroom, Libby watched him go, but not before she called after him over the landing banister, seeing him pause on the spiral stairs looking up at her.

 

“You will call me won’t you…?” she asked, mirroring the words he spoke to her the night they first met.

 

He smiled, a wide, filthy smile.

 

“Pass up an opportunity for hot, Trans-Atlantic phone sex with you? I think not.” He winked.

 

She smiled down at him as she disappeared out of her front door. She heard the latch click before the sound of his shoes disappeared off to his waiting cab to take him to the airport.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Jasper was a good ten minutes away from Libby’s. He reached over to his carry-on bag, and found what he was looking for. Tucked away into a zipped up pocket.

 

A gold wedding band, which he slid back onto his ring finger.

 

He also slid the picture of him and Libby at a gala dinner out of sight in his wallet, replacing it with a picture of a young, brown haired boy, who sported a similar ice blue eye colour to his own. He then dialed the long distance number on his phone, pressing it to his ear as he heard it ring before a smoky sexy voice of his leggy brunette American wife answered on the other end.

 

“Hello Darling. I’m just in the cab on my way to the airport. Is Jake around? Yeah. Put him on, tell him his daddy wants to say Hello before he sees him the day after tomorrow….”

 

 

 

 


	2. Insults, Dry Spells and Moustaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cue;
> 
> -Libby dressed as a Mexican  
> -A verbal sparring match  
> -sexual insight for Ben on her behalf
> 
> and, some alcohol just for funsies....

Benedict got a very large, and albeit very cultural, surprise when he knocked on Libby’s door that night. As Libby swung the door inwards and Ben could clearly see she was dressed up as a Mexican. She startled him with a loud and disquieting cry of;

“¡Hola Señor!” She cried.

On her head, of course, she wore a sombrero, the string of which looped under her chin. On her chest she wore a multi coloured poncho, and bristling on her upper lip was a heavy black moustache, and thick sideburns stuck to the side of her cheeks. The moustache drooped down on her top lip, obscuring her teeth as she smiled widely. As she moved Ben saw and heard she had marracas in her right hand. His smile wavered before stretching into a fully-fledged grin. He chuckled and held up the festive themed booze she insisted he bring. Two bottles of tequila.

“Entrar, Por Favour!” (Come in, Please) she exclaimed perkily.

“Alright, Alright! We can’t all be bilingual, you know...” Ben murmured, stepping in the door.

She smiled happily, taking from him the bottles of booze, in her un-maraca holding hands. He dodged past the small curvy frame of his friend, ducking under the hat to give her a small kiss on the cheek, lingering as he inhaled the familiar scent of her perfume that clung to her neck, staying close to her face for as long as he dared. Seeing her cheeks go a bit pink, and her eyes, though eclipsed under the shadow of the brim of her hat, still managed to sparkle like sapphires in the sun. He laughed internally at how the giant fake moustache tickled his cheek.

“I know I’m not supposed to say this for another 15 years, but your moustache tickles. And I also know I’m not supposed to make a pass at a taken lady, but you _do_ smell nice.” He purred. To which he was delighted that Libby blushed.

“Well. You’re no gentleman. First of all, even if I did have a moustache, you’re not to comment on it. And two, I’ll attribute your keen sense of smell to your highly observant Sherlockian personality, I did change my brand of perfume recently...” she explained.

“Shame. I rather liked your old one, after the Rachel breakup when you stayed at mine and slept in my bed, my sheets forever smelled of Madame Perfume, no matter how many times I put them through the wash, even now when I lie in bed at night they still smell of you...” Ben smiled, mumbling softly.

She bit her lip, peeling off the tache, so Ben could see the fullness of her soft pink lips once again.

  
“Well…” She mumbled, somewhat confused as to how to respond after his heartfelt plea.

 

“It doesn’t matter how good I smell right now, because in about half an hour, the whole house is going to stink to the rafters of Mexican food anyway…” Libby smiled, moving past Ben to the kitchen. Where he could see many an old El Paso packets laid out. Along with fresh veg and fruit, and bags upon bags of Doritos. And he just had a premonition there would be more than plenty of booze in her fridge chilling already.

She crossed to the other side of the kitchen between the island and the oven, turning it on and heating some oil in a pan. He crossed and examined the laid out contents.

“So, Enchiladas, tacos and tortillas are most definitely on the menu then?” he asked, picking up a packet of peppers.

 

“Of course, in the somewhat untrue and overhyped typical Mexican fashion…”

 

She smiled, shucking off the poncho and hat, and slinging on an apron, sliding out a chopping board and starting to expertly dice the onion with short sharp chops of the knife. Benedict had said she was a great cook, she was an expert too. When she was about 18, she went to Paris for a month to take a Bakery class, and ended up staying for twelve months as an apprentice in one of Paris’s most expensive and famous Patisseries. She said she lived in a shabby walk up near Rue du Charonne. She also said that in typical Parisian fashion that she rode a rusty old bike to work every day, learned how to smoke, thankfully, she still bathed and shaved her armpits, learned the language like a local and dated Jean Pierre, a French novelist and writer for a year. After she left to come home to England to go off to Uni, Jean Pierre wrote a book about her, called ‘Ma femme aux cheveux rouges’ (My Red Haired Woman) which was essentially a soft porn novel, recalling all the times they had sex, stating how he had missed her, and describing in very intimate detail the long hours they used to spend making love. Occasionally, if he would ever travel over the pond to London, Libby would meet him for dinner. Which he would spend the entire time of which trying to win her back. Luckily - for her - she sported a private nickname in the book for the sake of anonymity, and Ben would smile every time that subject came up and she would tell the story to people who hadn’t heard it before, she also said that a similar thing happened to her when she travelled to Italy after Uni right after she graduated, apparantly she stayed four weeks longer than intended with an Italian boyfriend, named Leonardo. Benedict stated he didnt wish to hear it, save it for another time maybe. Ben wondered if she had conquered hearts from here to timbuktu? He wouldnt put it past her though, she was warm, funny, sexy, kind, and enchanting. Once you met Libby, you would hard pressed to forget her… she had armies of friends and previous lovers, all because of the fact she was wonderful to be with and around. And damned impossible to forget or let go of. And what's more, he knew she had an unfaltering rule that meant she didn't let a guy get anywhere, other than a goodnight kiss perhaps, until after the third date. So the reason for everyone liking her couldn't be for her body. Or her wiles. She captured people with her sizzling smile and wonderful personality. 

 

“Anything I can help with?" Benedict asked, moving around where she was stood, tears starting in her eyes due to the onions making her weep. She always cryed when she cut onions, Ben never did. They were perfectly matched… he thought.

 

"Um, Yeah." she started, dabbing the corners of her eyes with a tea towel as she sniffed, attempting to avoid tears.

"In my kitchen, on Mexican night, you must wear the intended costume, and help me chop the peppers…”

She winked, handing him the pack of vegetables and a knife and chopping board.

Benedict moved into the room, as she adjusted the music through her wireless sound system, so that Santana flowed through with a hint of Latin suggestion at them as they worked. He shrugged off his jacket, setting it down on a stool, and crossed to the sink to wash his hands.

“So, what is the intended costume for me to wear as your Su Chef?” he smiled, washing the soap off and drying his hands.

Libby had aready grabbed her sombrero and held it out to him as he leant with one hand on the back of his hip, and one on the counter.

“This.” She smirked. “And nothing else…” she purred seductively.

Ben raised a single brow. Smiling too.

“If I didn’t know you better, and wasn't so sure you were the perfect model of decorum, I’d accuse you of being a dirty slut…” He smirked, attempting to whip her behind with the towel in his hands. She squealed and ducked out of his way.

“Where is Jasper anyway? Is he coming tonight?”

Ben asked politely considering he wanted to put the mans head through a wall, just because of the fact that he was shagging his best friend slash woman he had fallen madly in love with. Once on a lunch date with He and the man (And Tom too, brought along for moral support, And for the state of Ben’s sanity) As Libby had nipped off to the ladies, and Tom asked him how it was faring between them. Jasper answered crudely saying he nearly put his back out with her the other day in bed. Bens fists and jaw clenched, the vein in his neck and forehead simultaneously popping. Tom had to slyly kick him under the table lest he tear into his cloth napkin with his hands, before leaping over the table and smacking Jasper in the face with a chair. Repeatdedly.

“No, he’s in San Fransisco actually, at a book fair for work.” She explained with a soft smile, scooping diced onions into the now flaming hot pan.

Ben made a small mumbled sound. Focusing on the vegetables in front of him. Avoiding her eye contact as he looked down at his hands with a sombre mask of indifference.

“Benedict…” she started, her tone a harsh demand that urged out more speech from him, coaxing it from hiding within his stony expression.

  
“Yes?” he answered, still not looking at her. He could only last so long before those blue irises he couldn’t resist sucked him in and he lost the battle with himself.

“Fess up.” She said, adopting a neautral expression, led by a small smile. and one hand on her hip, the other, worryingly close to her kitchen knife, he thought. He reached over to pry it away from her reachable grasp.

“He’s obviously in love with you, though I can’t say I blame him for that, poor sod. It’s a burden many men are helpless to avoid…” he began.

“You always lead with compliments before you give bad news..” She said dryly. Still smiling.

Ben took a deep cleansing breath. “….I don’t know, he just… He seems so far away sometimes, so out of it. You seem completely on board and invested, and he can be miles away thinking of other things..”

She opened her mouth to speak, but her cut her off, tipping the point of his knife at her.

“BUT! You coaxed my honest opinion out of me, against my will with that ‘you’ll tell me anything I want to know’ tone, and you can’t be angry with me, as the best friend I am allowed to pick out the faults in the men you date, that is my job. And Tom’s. And the fact we love you to bits, and the fact you’re a woman only makes us all the more defensive.”

He finalised his rant, having swiftly been chopping as he spoke, now dropping the knife and turning to face her stood next to him. He saw she was just smiling simply at him.

“Well thank you for the reassurance, that’s not at all sexist and cave man like of you, you seem to forget I can hold my own and that you and Tom are such big girls blouses, you run screaming if someone even mentions the word, ‘spider’ and to top it off and cannot for the life of between the pair of you, assemble a DIY bookshelf…”

“In our defensive, that was a tough task…” he murmered, munching noisly on apiece of pepper.

“You went to Harrow. And Tom went to Eaton. What use is that of you can’t bracket two pieces of wood together, but heaven forfend, you can sing the alphabet in greek…” she asked.

Ben promptly shut up.

“And…” she carried on. “Before you interupted me with your rant, I was going to say I happened to agree with your analysis of Jasper…” she spoke quietly, idly shuffling the onions around the oan with a wooden spoon.

Ben stopped and turned to her, folding his arms as he leant back against the counter. The peppers could wait.

“I love Jasper, to absolute bits, he’s so funny, and my god I think Bernini sculptures were based on his body. But, sometimes, he can be right there in the room with me, and still manage to be a million miles away…” she spoke softly.

Ben looked to the floor, and then back up again, unsure of what to say.

“He can go days without calling or texting me, weeks even. And I only stay away because I don’t want to be the needy girlfriend who plagues him. But, you know when you like someone you want to know their every movement, every second of every day…” she stirred faster now, getting all riled up.

“And lord forgive me if I just want to lie in bed and be held for two seconds after sex, speaking of which, let’s just throw in there the fact your’s truly hasn’t gotten any in three long months…”

She ranted, Bens attention was grabbed and held to ransom by the word ‘sex’ coming from her lips and his body suddenly felt a bit hot for a moment, and that had nothing to do with the oven.

“… And he walks out on that too, the other day, practically during. It was just getting good, and then, all of a sudden it’s ‘sorry love, back in a bit’, and he hopped in the shower, dressed and left. I mean, who does that? It’s just…. ARGH!”

she threw her hands up in the air, crossing to the island beside him and angrily chopping a tomato. Ben watched her for a second, before placing a hand over hers and making her put the knife down.

“You know what I’m gonna say to you…” he began.

“What?” she asked, sounding a bit less irritated.

“Talk to him, maybe its just a phase, maybe he has ADD, I don’t know…. But taking it out aggresively on a tomato isnt going to solve anything…”

He nodded to the poor casualty of the fruit that had been angrily mushed, diced, and assualted by her knife and her rage.

“Ben, how many men do you know, have Attention Defecit Disorder issues when in the middle of an orgasm?” she asked.

He’ll give it to her, she stumped him there.

They both remained in silence for a second.

“He’s a good guy, Libs. Atleast discuss the problems with him before you call it quits, and find that there’s suddenly a massive clay pig sporting his name, and a few cuss-words written on it in ‘La Abbotoir’.” He smiled.

And so did she. She remembered that was the god awul art gallery that she dragged Ben too, the night she met Jasper, four months ago.

She slumped, “How come you get to be so wise?” she nudged his shoulder with her own.

“My age darling, when you’ve lived as long as I have… used to the cruel ways of the world..”

“Yeah, Ok, Mr Lauriet, You are but three years my senior…”

She smiled, calmly chopping a second tomato now, the second one going the safe way compared to the massacre of the first one.

Ben carried on with his peppers, until they were all done. He then stopped and eyed up the bottles of booze sat on the counter opposite them.

“Fancy a little something to wet your whistle?” ben purred in a put on sexy voice.

“Oh, I bet you say that to all the ladies…” Libby purred back, fetching two shotglasses.

“Only to my wives…”

Ben winked. Pouring out the lethal subtance that they had both been slaughtered by in their youthful Uni days.

  
“May you always be young, and moustache free….” Ben raised his glass.

“May you someday drop atleast two of your names, and cease to be a dyslexics worst nightmare…” she raised her own glass.

“shut your filthy mouth, you drunken animal…”

“Was that a threat? Posh boy? Because I don’t care how strong you are, I can take you…”

“That’ll do pig, that’ll do.”

“Bite me you Private school pansy.”

“Only if you bite me first, you public school bimbo…”

“Stow it Benadryl Sillyname.”

“Shut – you know what, I’m out of insults… more booze if you please..” Ben held out his glass. Libby filled it.

“Yeah, yeah. Quitter, I win the sass off, and you know it.”

“Suck it, you… artsy clodhead…”

“Benedict, save the dirty talk for Tom why don’t you, we have a long evening ahead…”

“Is it ethical to cook when absolutely plastered?”

“Care to find out?” Libby winked.

“Oh yes I do… bring it on, red.”

“Come at me, Batch…”


	3. Salt, Tang, Doormats and Photographs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tom is astonishingly drunk.
> 
> Jasper is a liar.
> 
> And Libby and Ben play a drinking game....

By the Time it got to making the enchilada’s and taco’s, half an hour later, Ben and Libby were slightly over the limit of being a little drunk, Benedict more so than her, she doubted the silly man had eaten much today. If she knew him at all, he got up early, answered a few emails and calls, and observed over scripts for new projects, all with nought but cup after cup of coffee in his stomach. Then he probably had a buisness lunch at an unbearably posh London restaurant, in which he was served a tiny pretentious portion of something pureéd and french. The portion size of which would barely feed a starving infant in a third world country. And knowing Ben, he would eat nothing else for the rest of the day. So no wonder he was more easily intoxicated… But a drunk Ben was indeed a very wonderful Ben. He didn’t get touchy feely or weepy, alike some men she knew, he got very, active, spurring round her kitchen with the inane desire to dance and sing wildly, until she would tell him off and he would apologise by kissing her on the forehead, careful to avoid her hair or face, or clothes with his floury hands, (but he found the temptation to place a nice large white floury handprint on her perfect little ass on the back of her leggings was far beyond tempting) he leaned back into her and once again helped to progress dinner. She couldn’t help laughing, she had seen him drunk roughly around the same number of times she had seen him sober - and she had seen him almost every other day for 16 years, so that said a lot – she was trying to roll a chicken enchilda, but could not, for the life of her, stop chuckling away at her best friend, so much so that tears came out her eyes and her sides ached, she had to partially slump over the counter so as not to look at him, her hands were floury and she held a few cooked pieces of chicken in her palms until she could cease laughing and finish preparing them.

 

“Ben I-huh- please stop dancing , you twit! I’m trying to cook here…” she pleaded as he threw around his body to the tune of ‘Groovejet – If This Ain’t Love’ sublibbing Sophie Ellis Bextor’s prim british singing voice with his own drunken mumbling.

 

“ _If this ain’t love, why does it feel so good?…._ ”

 

He sang loudly, stood next to her and helping to roll a very dodgy looking enchilada, which they both snorted with hilarity at over how bad it was. She couldn’t ignore that his hips were rolling into her side as he swayed into the beat. _Damn those snake hips of your’s batch_ , she thought, _they make me think highly indecent things. And it doesn’t help the fact that Tom’s are the same, between the two of you, it’s a shameful spectacle of potency…_

 

“Oh god, I’m usually better at this..” She mumbled laughing, as Ben smiled, his hands going over hers on th counter as he stood beside her, the bottoms of his forearms brushing over the top of her wrists and elbows.

 

“And you trust me to help you? I can barely make toast….” He smiled. “Come here, look just press harder…” He encouraged. Unable to avoid skin on skin contact.

 

Neither of them could deny the crackling sensual tension at that touch that set the air around them alight, so much so it felt like they were stood in a sauna, the air having gone so heavy, thick, hot and still. Libby’s lips parted as a gush of air swept through them. Ben watched her lips with lidded eyes. Now this, _this_ was beyond far too tempting for him. (she was beyond far too tantalising for him) Locking eyes with her, and seeing her lovely skin flush, and not from the heat of their cooking.

 

That was before a harsh sizzle from the pan of chilli behind her hissed away, she bared her teeth down on her bottom lip, turning away, slipping out from under him as she turned her back and stirred the spicy chilli con carne. Ben looked down at the – only – perfect looking enchilada they had rolled together. He looked over his shoulder to see she was idly prodding at her cooking in the pan. Unknowing of what to do.

 

Ben found his voice and cleared his throat. “Uhmn. I’m sorry.”

 

He spoke to the room ahead of him, twirling his fingers around the mountain of grated cheese they had prepared earlier to cover the salsa layers enchilada’s so they were ready for the oven, ignoring the fact that, inapproriately ‘Rather Be’ was now blaring through her sound system. Ben saw her her blink slowly, closing her eyes.

 

“You should’nt be sorry.”

 

She murmered so softly, and so quietly. Almost imperceptably. Exhale too heavily and you would lose what she said. It was that quiet. So quiet the sizzling food nearly covered the sound.

 

 _“If you gave me a chance, I would take it. It’s a shot, in the dark, but I’ll make it. Know with all of my heart you can’t shame me. When I am with you, there’s no place I’d rather be…”_ echoed through the air.

 

“But, on the other hand, I am officially starving now, and these look amazing… incompetently arranged … but amazing….”

 

He complimented, trying to break the tension with a joke. And it appeared to work, she smiled and wiped her hands down her apron. Turning to face him with her hands braced on the worktop.

 

“They do?”

 

She asked, peering up at him with a smile and less reddened cheeks.

 

“I never lie when it comes to your masterful cooking…” He assured her. Smiling right back.

 

She slid the finished pan into her hands, and swooped it into the oven, setting the timer and brushing her hands of crumbs of cheese and tomato stains. She then tossed a cloth to ben, you caught it and cleaned his own hands. They shuffled silently into action, cleaning up the mes sand preparing the rest of the dinner. Just as Libby put away the last dirty dish in the dishwasher, she found a small shot of tequila burning her nasal senses as Ben held it under her nose, waving it at her.

 

“Are you trying to seduce me into drunkeness?”

 

She asked, smiling and necking the shot. Ben did the same, even having sliced a lime and sucking it fater he drank. Libby watched silently, transfixed by that cupid’s bow wrapping around the fruit and sucking… _god of potency indeed…_ she thought.

She laughed as he pulled the lime away, hissing and making a disturbed face, Libby chuckled as he winced.

 

“Christ…” he wheezed, “I forgot how awful that is…” He sighed, placing a hand on his chest and blinking through the visable revulsion that shuddered through his lanky frame.

“Hey, now, calm down old man. I’ll fix you a horlicks if you’d prefer…” she teased.

 

“Oddly, I wouldn’t turn that down right now…” Ben cleared his throat. Still looking revolted.

 

“Yeah, well. We’re not twenty year old’s necking that god awful stuff in a club with ‘Everything but the girl’ pounding in the background, anymore..” Libby smiled, setting her shot glass down.

 

They were both disturbed by a rattling knock shaking her front door on its hinges, aswell as a very inebriated holler carrying through the wood.

 

“helllllooooooo _oooOOOO!_ ” came the girly drunken cry from the other side of the door. But that silky all male voice they would know anywhere...

 

Libby and Ben turned and gave each other slow building smiles, that couldn’t be….

But as the door rattled again, being jiggled on its hinges from the other side. And the vaguely familiar shadow of the lanky man through the frosted glass and curtain across the window that looked out onto the courtyard at the front of her house. They discovered that yes. It most certainly could be...

 

That shadow that looked similarly like a shakespeare adoring, Etonite veteran, worlds nicest human being and sensible man who never _ever_ let himself get drunk.

 

“Why’as my key not’workin’…”

 

Came a mumbled voice that Ben and Libby still managed to hear through the door despite the fact he was obviously trying to whisper.

 

“You better let him in before he injures himself…”

 

Ben spoke softly to Libby, trying to conceal a large smile as she moved to the door. She swept the door inwards to let Tom come in, when she suddenly found the man himself sprawled halfway over her threshold, in a careless tangle of limbs.

 

“What-the—Tom?!” Libby spoke to her wiry stanced friend who now had his nose pressed down against her doormat.

 

“My key, It’didn’t let me’in.”

 

Tom compained, shuffling onto one elbow, showing her the small thing in his hand, dangling off his adroit and twig thin fingers.

 

“…That’s because that’s a pen Tom…”

 

Libby explained, seeing the posh parker ink pen in his hand. Unbelieving that he allowed himself to get _this_ drunk. She wasn't angry or dissapointed at him, not at all, in fact she found it rather funny.

 

“ _Oh_ …”

 

Tom said sadly, looking at aforesaid object with disdain in his eyes.

 

“Tom, would you care to get off the floor anytime soon?” Libby teased.

 

“Nahh, s’comfy.”

 

Tom insisted, shuffling his arms so the back of his black jacket pulled tight, and his legs settled into a comfortable contorted position, the tips of his – probably expensive – polished shoes scruffing on the cobblestoned floor outside her front door.

 

Libby smiled, standing still, folding one arm on her hip, the other holding the door open and looking down at him. Benedict was stood in the kitchen doorway just to the right, arms folded across his chest, and just wishing his phone wasn’t dead so he could snap a picture and show to all the ‘Hiddlestoner’s’ out there just what their Idol got up to on Saturday nights.

 

“Come on mate…”

 

Ben chuckled, crossing to his friend, and hauling up by his armpits to stagger with one arm over his shoulder, pressing his lean friend to his side, and stooping them both into the kitchen and flopping him onto a barstool. Which he delighted in, regarding the new vertical position with the touch of a drunken happy smile, that _still_ managed to remian handsome and _phwoaaar_ worthy. Libby shut the door in Tom’s wake, which was a lot easier to do as he wasn’t reclined over her threshold anymore.

 

Libby noticed how Tom was dressed up to the nines, which meant he had probably been somewhere posh for the evening, attended a premiere or a launch party somehwere. No doubt under Luke’s watchful eyes.

 

He was wearing a black tux and tie, of which his chest and knees were now slightly brushed with dust and muck from his little venture south of her skirting boards on the doormat.

 

“Something’ smells wonderful…”

 

Tom complimented, hiccuping, scrambling to unfold his bowtie, leaving it strung round his neck. Even when in the throes of intoxication he was still unfailingly polite.

 

“We made Dinner…”

 

Ben explained, subtly shoving a large drink under his friends nose. In the vain hope that it would perhaps sober him up a bit. Which Tom guzzled down in record time, wiping his mouth on the sleeve as he finished.

 

“That was an awful drink, what was that called? Eugh, never having that again, tasteless…”

 

“That was water.” Ben chuckled softly.

 

“Maybe we should eat now…”

 

 

Libby suggested, moving across the kitchen, but shoving a big bowl of dry tortilla crisps at Tom, so he had something settling in his stomach along with whatever alcohol he had consumed copiously this evening.

 

“Eat these, soak up whatever it is you’ve been absorbing all night…”

 

Libby coaxed, holding one up to his mouth, which he took genteely between his teeth. Crunching on it.

 

“I haven’t, had tha’much to drink, ok, I had some champannnnne, a vodka’ and somin’ else. Coke I think’ t’was. And then I had five-strebbryyydakkkiiss.”

 

Ben frowned at the last part of his sentence. “Five what now?” He asked.

 

“Did he just say what I think he said?”

 

Libby asked in a quiet dreading voice, eyes going wide.

 

“Good lord, I hope not.”

 

“I had five strawberry, daiquiri’s…” Tom elaborated.

 

Libby’s head dropped to her hands, and Ben sighed. “Not the daiquiri’s Tom. Anything but the daiquiri’s….”

Ben pleaded.

 

“We should’ve warned Luke about this, he should **_not_** have been let loose on them in the first place…” Libby said gravely.

 

“Ok, the important thing we have to remember here, is that it was just daiquiri’s, thank god, it wasn’t nesquik.”

 

Ben shuddered in memory of the infamous 4 strawberry milkshake incident of 2004.

 

“Yeah. Mrs Coseeni’s pug was never the same after that.” Libby remembered sadly. “Poor thing…” she recalled in horror.

 

“What are yout’wo gossips gassbagging about? I’m fine, despite wha’it may seem, I am not tha’ drunk.” Tom insisted

 

Tom watched his friends faces stonily set with doubt, glaring at him with raised brows and an aura of,Oh really?

 

“Yeah, ok. And I’m dating Pamela Anderson….” Benedict joked sarcastically.

 

“.. And I’m married to a young Billy Idol…” Libby finished laughing.

 

“Billy Idol?” Ben laughed, turning to her. “He’s close to my dad’s age.”

 

“…mmmn but back in his day…” Libby purred biting her lip, and smirking sexily. “Oh, that sexy scowl _did things_ to me.” She mumbled appreciatively

 

“Besides, don’t hound me about my choice, Pamela Anderson? I mean come on, you couldn’t get more pedestrian if you tried…” Libby chided.

 

“Blonde, big tits. That’s about as far as every man’s sexual fantasy goes…” Libby scoffed.

 

Benedict silently disagreed, his eyes roving up and down the length of the curvy redhead that he was rather inclined to favour over a busty blonde bimbo any day. Her breasts werent exactly on the small side themselves…. He noted appreciatively as they strained for attention under her tight white t-shirt.

 

“Why are you marrying Billy Idol?” Tom interjected. Frowning to himself. “If you were gon' marry anyone, you’d marry Benedict o'course…”

 

Tom mumbled absent mindedly, before realising what he had said, his eyes blew wide in realisation and Tom then swiftly slapped a hand across his mouth, landing with a loud sharp smack across his cheeks.

 

Ben looked at Tom with panicked eyes, and a stiff unamused face. Libby’s mouth dropped open and she also felt the hot rising quell of panic swelling in her chest. Her eyes switched to Ben, who went red and turned back to Tom.

 

“Tom.”

 

Libby started in a stern tone.

 

“What do you mean by that?”

 

She pressed, leaning over the counter with harsh interrogative eyes spearing at the drunkard.

 

Tom shook his head in a ‘no’ motion, hand still clasped across his lips.

 

“He won’t talk till you get more liquor in him..” Ben suggested with a small embarassed smile.

 

Libby eyed the half a bottle of tequila.

 

“Oh come on, let’s just forget it and eat…”

 

she smiled, getting plates out of the cupboard.

 

It took Tom another ten minutes before he pried his hand away from his mouth, only it would be somewhat difficult to eat with it there….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Progress a couple of hours later into the evening, and there you will find that Ben, Libby and Tom alike, were now at the comfortable shared and equal level of drunkeness, which was just so that their inhabitions were let go, and their sense of personal boundary, They were all heaped onto the sofa, Tom slumped one end, and there was every possibility that he was falling asleep as Ben and Libby laughed the night away adjacent to him.

 

 

They had gorged themselves on the mexican food, and were now spoiling themselves on the - very formidable - tequila Ben had brought along. Which they had now nearly finished a bottle of, just between him and her, with a tiny amount of Tom’s aid. The daiquiri’s rather finished him off, Libby turned her head, wiping tears of mirth away from her eyes to see that Tom had slumped, profile resting in peace as he slept.

 

“I think we’re a man down…” Libby whispered To Benedict, trying to be quiet but failing miserably.

 

Ben chuckled and looked over to the actor, seeing his mouth gape against the arm of her sofa, one leg hauled up, and Libby’s calf thrown across his knee, one large slim fingered hand splayed across her leg. The other, cuddling a long since forgotten bottle of corona to his chest. Which was threatening to topple over and spill at any second.

 

“Shall I put him in your bed?”

 

Ben asked, moving to stand up on wobbly feet, he would have toppled over were it not for Libby’s hand reaching out and pushing the side of his thigh.

 

She laughed, a happy carefree drunken chortle

 

“You ok there? Bambi on ice?” she chuckled.

 

Ben put his thumb up in a happy, satisfied gesture.

 

“No need to split hairs, you just wanted to cop a feel of my five star very fine arse!” Ben suggested wiggling his eyebrows and waggling said behind.

 

Libby broke off into a laugh again.

 

“Oh please, you flatter yourself, If I did intend to grope your ass, I’d have the gall and nerve to go about it more subtly!" She promised, swigging down a half empty beer. Leaving the hardcore tequila to Ben.

 

“Yeah yeah.”

 

Ben waved her off, hauling Tom up onto his feet, and staggering across the room with him, stepping past Libby who shuffled her cold feet under a blanket as he walked past.

 

“Make sure you close the windows too, don’t want him to get cold.”

 

“He’s not a baby…”

 

Ben started, getting him up the first couple of steps. Feeling Tom’s head loll on his shoulders.

 

“He’s our honorary baby…” Libby shouted back. Ben smiled.

 

“Mnnfnmmmm. Libby?” Tom asked, as he and Ben rounded the landing, going up the couple of single steps into Libby’s bedroom.

 

“No, Tom. It’s Ben.”

 

“Shame…” Tom said glumly.

 

“Thanks, you cheeky sod! I’m the one taking care of you here…”

 

“No, I meant I can’t tell you… You’re Ben, I promised Ben I wouldn’t tell him.” Tom shuffled, his words slurring.

 

“Tom, _I’m_ Ben.”

 

“Shhhh, Men. I’m not supposed to say that Ben loves Libby, more than a friend, and she likes him back the same way.”

 

Ben nearly dropped him.

 

“She What?”

 

Ben demanded, as they came round to Libby’s bed in the darkened room. Tom was lowered gently onto Libby’s freshly made bed. She probably remade that today, Ben thought idly at the back of his mind, she loved Saturdays but hated doing washing.

 

As Tom was swirled round, his arm knocked down a stack of books from Libby’s bedside table.

 

"Oh Shit.”

 

Ben stumbled, leaving them on the floor for the minute whilst he sorted Tom out.

 

“She loves him back, only she’s with jasper, but she has always been in love with-him-.”

 

Tom’s eyes slowly drifted shut as he relaxed into the pillows, arm thrown across his white shirt clad chest, and the other dangling off the edge of the bed. Ben could still see the muddy and dusty marks on his knees and his stomach as he led there, one socked foot twitching as he fell into a deep sleep.

 

He sighed, “Goodnight you daiquiri drinking calamity, you.” He smiled, patting his best friends knee.

 

He looked at the crumpled pile of books on the floor, cursing some more as he knelt to pick them up, his knees clicking as he did, and his back straining at the exercise.

 

As he grabbed the books in his grasp, two small squares of card slid out of the pages.

 

Ben frowned and turned the book over to see the title, ‘The Kite Runner’ He knew instantly that this book wasn’t Libby’s, she hated that book, spewed on about how awful it was for weeks. Which meant that it was Jasper’s…

 

He reached down to the soft carpet, picking up the dropped pieces of paper, turning them over, and pausing as he saw that they were not blank….

 

 

One of them was a wedding photo, A tall dark and handsome man stood next to a leggy looking pretty brunette, they were smiling and posing for the camera, Ben recognised the golden gate bridge in the background.

 

The second picture was of a tiny baby in a mans arms. The tiny pink bundle of joy looked like a newborn kid….

 

 

Ben’s stomach dropped to his feet in horror, and despite the warm drunken state of his mind and body, he felt ice cold.

 

 

 

 

The man in the photos – posing at the wedding and holding the baby lovingly – was Jasper O’Donoghue.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ben returned downstairs to find Libby sucking on a piece of lime, making an awful pained face. He didn’t know how he should act, so he just wandered slowly in the room, she saw him and shuffled along the sofa, making room for him to slide down easily next to her.

 

“My god, you were right…” she rasped “That is as awful as I remember it….” She spoke quietly.

 

Despite what he had discovered a mere moments prior upstairs, he smiled nonetheless.

“Ever tried it with salt too?” he winked, eyes gleaming manically. Leaping up to go to the kitchen.

 

“Oh, you truly are evil…” she coughed, the sharp lime juice and strong liquor taking its toll on her throat.

 

Ben returned to the sofa, sitting down to lean over to the coffe table and pour himself a glass of tequila, necking it quickly, before licking salt off his palm, and sucking on the lime. Spitting it out after a moment and making a very soured face.

 

“Wow, that has all its old kicks….” He puffed, looking like he may throw up.

 

Libby laughed, and he turned to her.

 

“Laugh all you want Turner, but I don’t see you giving it a go…” he purred, daring her.

 

She raised a brow, grabbing the bottle and necking it in one large gulp, before throwing the salt on her tongue, and then sucking on the lime that Ben had previously used. He couldn’t deny that something that had once been in his mouth, and which was now in hers, was inherently and shamefully erotic to him.

 

“Jesus…..” she panted, placing a hand over her chest, feeling that, for a moment, her mexican dinner might make a reappearence too.

 

Ben chuckled at her.

 

“Care to make this _really_ interesting?” he winked. In a very playful teasing voice. Drunken lust overtaking his senses.

 

“How so?” she purred back, equally as sinfully and as sexily as he had.

 

“Three shot death row, loser has to let the victor take a shot, and then lick the salt off a chosen point on their body…” Ben purred, readying more shot glasses on the table in front of them.

 

Libby looked over to him, sexy blue eyes glinting in confidence and acceptance of his dare.

“You’re on Batch, prepare for defeat, sucker…” she smiled, watching him as he set up the three shots.

 

He sat back as he finished. Looking at her seductively and alluringly.

 

“Ready?” he asked, raising the first shot

 

“As I’ll ever be…” She answered back, poised to go.

 

“ _GO!_ ”

 

Libby downed the first one, Ben doing the same, they both then reached out for the second one, and Ben tossed that back, but Libby’s body sank in complaint, she took a large deep breath. Just as ben slammed down his last empty shot glass on the table, hissing with breath as he finished. And smiling smugly at her.

 

“Prepare for _my_ victory, sucker….”

 

He spoke softly with sexy wrinkled smile that immediately launched his face into instant handsomeness.

 

He picked up the salt shaker from the table, and Libby watched him with dread.

 

“Where are you going to do it? Off my hand? My arm? Because I tell you now, if you say ‘boobs’ I will slap you into next week…”

 

“Neck.” Ben stated with lusty eyes.

 

“What?” Libby scoffed.

 

“I want to lick it. Off. Your. Neck.”

 

Ben stated simply, his eyes drawing deeper into darkened pools of blue yearning desire.

 

She sighed, knowing she was the loser in this contest, she tugged her t-shirt to the side, exposing more of her pale clavicle. Ben salivated. Not one whiff of a notion in his head, that this would be a bad idea. He was just enjoying his spoils of war. His, curvy, sexy, slender exquisite reheaded spoils that he would quite happily shag into next week if he could.

 

Ben swallowed, leaning forwards so her was pressed close to her, tilting her head to the side as he ran a cool long line of salt down her neck to her shoulder. He left it to settle, unable to take his eyes off the crystals, as he took the other shot he had poured, and lifted it to his lips, drinking it quickly down. Before pausing for a second, and flicking his eyes up to her own. And she _smiled_. That was all the encouragement he needed.

 

He leaned forwards, and pulled her top down over her shoulder a bit more, gulping before he tilted his lips to her skin, slowly licking a long, slow, wet and hot line up from her shoulder to her throat.

 

Libby’s stomach clenched. And she felt a slight flare of heat pool in her groin. After not getting any for three months, not even being touched or held with passion. Her blood was on fire because of this. Atom bombs and fireworks, flares and every other explosive thing she could think off, were screaming their way through her veins, robbing her every breath from her mouth.

 

She felt Ben’s hand link to her waist, those thin fingers mapping her out under her thin cotton t-shirt, warm dexterous digits stroking gently over her side, feeling the soft rounded swell of her stomach that she knew wasn’t thin or deplete, like all the other women he dated. He, frankly, couldn’t care less about all the other thin twigs he had once dated, he always fancied a woman with curves and smooth fleshy and rounded body parts, and now. It looks like he nearly had her. she had hips that he could claw into, breasts that spilled over the large grasp of his touch, he finally knew what he wanted, and despite the fact she hated her wobbly bits, he could not want her any more than he already did, and feeling her skin under his hands and tongue instantly made him a little hard.

 

He had nearly finished lapping up the salt from her skin now, his nose brushing up over her thrumming pulse point, her skin hot and wetted due to his actions, but his arousal was not dying down as he continued, in fact it was trebling, he could taste her infamous perfume, and smell it too. drifting up his nose from where she sprayed it liberally over her skin. Sensually the scent only dragged him further into exploring her,

 

“Ben…”

 

She interjected in a quivering voice as he moved to place one hand to come and rest at the curved straining muscles of her back, mapping out her soft scented flesh, fingers dangerously dipping below her t - shirts ridden up hemline.

 

“I don’t think there’s any salt left…”

She trembled, her hand idly sliding into the back of his hair, latching through the dark tresses.

 

“I know there isn’t any left…”

 

Ben admitted, huskily, his own voice hoarse and crazed, near wounded from desire. He could feel his own arousal shudder heavily with more longing as she slid her fingers through his brown curls, his hair really was one of his most favoured hot spots, a weird button that she was managing to expertly push like no other woman had. And as she dragged her fingers slowly. He didn’t care that she had a boyfriend who was in another country, he didn’t care that he had spent 16 years being her best friend, right there and then, he wanted her. All of her.

 

His lips latched onto her neck again, but not in the quest for salt this time. This time they were on a completely independent search of their own nature. He twirled, lapped, teased, bit and sucked over her pale neck, bodies slowly compressing atop one another into the sofa cushions, his arms bracketing his body over hers, her knees bunched up, his hands tucking to the backs of her creased legs, interposing his body between her parted legs, his arousal rutting through the front of his jeans, striking heat where he touched against the soft sensitive apex that nestled between her thighs.

 

His hands reached down her thighs to cup her ass, oh god how many times had he dreamed about groping the superb ass that had taunted him for so long? Too many was the answer. He felt her moan under him as he did, a quick moan that escalated into a drawn out mewl that he recognised as his name mixed with a sigh as he touched her, and let his lips lap up across her jaw, his hot moist mouth dragging up past her jawline, crossing across skin to the corner where her mouth was tipped open with a sigh, and his tongue and lips closed over hers, another hot sweet tequila breath drifted out from her lips before he moved to tilt his head so he could kiss her properly, his tongue doing sinfully good things to her own. She felt like she had just come down from the aftermath of three great orgasms – if this was just what happened when he kissed her, dear sweet holy mother teresa, what was Benedict like in bed? All she knew was that it wasn’t like this with jasper, it was nice, certainly. But this? This was electric, it was if she could feel every nerve firing on all cylinders, she was ready for the throw down, wanting to mount him and ride him til they collapsed from the exhaustion of one too many great orgasms.

 

Oh Benedict, _her benedict_. (except he wasn't and that killed her, however much she did love him, she also loved Jasper, and she couldn't believe she was letting this happen..) But then his lips dragged over hers again, and she remembered why she didn't care... his hot spicy breath of lime and salt massaging her own lips and tongue with practised ease. One hand left her ass and came up to cradle the side of her neck, sliding down just below her lower lip as she moaned and bucked up under him as he was pressing against her now like a steel pole. Heady drunken lust dictating all of their moves. And none of them broke away, Libby stopped thinking of Jasper, and just let her best friend kiss her long into the night…

 

 

 


End file.
